Dear Miss Lavender, Ltr. 1

Dear Miss Lavender,

It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood today. You will ask why, I know, for you are inquisitive, like all of us ought to be. It was beautiful because the sun rose, crisp and new from underneath its covers. It graced the sky with a message of lilac and petunia hope. You would have loved it, for you love early mornings and promises of beauty for a day yet unseen.

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dancing angels

the sun-bronzed, curly-haired boy sits slumped against the neck of his chair and nods at me as I pass in my silver car. I am not driving one of the large trucks charting boats into the park and thus, he has no reason for stopping me. Parked parallel to him sits a red mini van (perhaps his mother’s mini van because he doesn’t own car yet?). Maybe he’s saving up the money he earns from sitting and waiting for boats. Maybe he will find a rusted-over, belly-almost-touching-the-highway kind of beast to call his own. He’d be one of those kids that christens their first car with a bottle of fizzy water and names it “Chuck”.

He just seems like that type. But what do I know?

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It’s kind of hard to tell what exactly she’s drinking, but it’s a melody of healthstuff with a root beer-tasting harmony. Strange. Brown. Dusty. Curious. She wonders if it will cleanse her liver or brighten or skin or simply cause grumbling gas bubbles in her stomach tomorrow at an unfortunate lull in a meeting. She hopes not the latter.

She swirls around the brown mass and takes another sip.

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